


Not a Word

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forced Bonding, Infidelity, M/M, magical bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how it should have gone. It should have been beautiful and Harry should be happy and Scorpius shouldn't feel so guilty, so tired, so young…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Word

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [](http://literaryspell.livejournal.com/profile)[**literaryspell**](http://literaryspell.livejournal.com/) and [](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/profile)[**secretsalex**](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/) for betaing.

The magic is ancient, older than Scorpius by thousands of years, hidden in tomes that reek of oils and ink-blotted, mouldy parchment. When the clock strikes midnight, Scorpius holds his breath. He can feel the magic thrust inside him, buried to the hilt and piercing as far as his heart before it sinks its claws in and holds.

Steady. Strong. Throbbing.

 _Like a pulse_ , he thinks. Like a pulse and just as dangerous.

***

Scorpius is seventeen when he walks into the Leaky Cauldron. It is just after midnight, and the spell is sizzling under his skin, dragging his feet towards the object of his desires like a magnet to metal. Harry Potter sits at the bar, nursing a tall glass of amber liquid, the ice half-melted and his eyes glazed.

Harry is always sitting there, his expression tight, the invitation to leave him the fuck alone radiating in waves to the back of the pub. Scorpius has seen him here, every night this week, and knows it's the only chance he's got. The _Prophet_ says Harry is overwhelmed trying to catch a serial killer, the kind who goes after children and slits their throats because it makes him feel good, that Harry's family is worried for his safety and mental well-being, and that even Minister Kingsley has offered other Aurors for the case but Harry can't let it go. Scorpius has to wonder what draws Harry to these cases, what makes this tragic hero tick beneath the press releases he's memorised, what makes Harry drudge through these horrible things, day after day?

Scorpius has loved Harry since he was ten, has known it will be Harry since he found the spell in one of his grandfather's diaries, and yet he knows too that he cares more than he should, that he wants not only for Harry to be his but to know him inside-out.

Tonight is not just about getting what he wants—it is about love, too.

***

On the bed, they writhe. Scorpius is pinned down on his stomach, and somehow he imagined this would go differently, but he is agreeable to any terms so long as it ends with Harry's come inside him. He doesn't expect the mouthing bruises on his shoulder blades, the bites at his neck, the rough grunts Harry makes behind him, or the way Harry says, _No_ when Scorpius reaches for his own prick. _No_ , he says. _Wait. Not yet. Wait._

Scorpius whimpers. It feels good. Perfect. Hard. Rough. Harry doesn't even know his name and he is fucking him on the bed like he's wanted this as long as Scorpius has. Scorpius remembers it all, being eleven years old and seeing Harry across the platform, his father whispering, _don't_ in his ear like a warning, remembers seeing Al Potter and trying desperately to get close enough to be invited home for Christmas, but Al was never interested and Scorpius couldn't pretend he wanted anything else but this. Scorpius thinks of himself, emptied out on his Slytherin sheets and kissing the back of his hand sloppy, muttering _Harry, Harry_ under all the silencing spells he could muster.

Scorpius makes sure Harry comes inside him, in a mix of blood and semen and spit and lube. It burns. It steals Scorpius' breath. It hurts.

But it is done.

***

"You _what_?" Harry snaps. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Scorpius Malfoy."

"Oh God, oh Christ, oh fuck…"

This is not how it should have gone. It should have been beautiful and Harry should be happy and Scorpius shouldn't feel so guilty, so tired, so young. He feels ten years old again, reprimanded by his father for wanking to Harry's Chocolate Frog Card. But isn't he an adult now? Can't he make his own decisions without someone telling him he is wrong?

"I love you," Scorpius sobs. He can't stop the trembling in his knees, which are still weak. He is still weak, all over and inside, so stupid and so young and why did he do this?

Scorpius sits at the foot of the bed in a jumbled mess of long, pale limbs, hands covering his face, which is red and burning, and he feels so foolish he could puke, but it is done and there is no undoing it now. The magic has bound them. They will be together forever. Harry is his. Harry is _his_ like a dog belongs to its master.

Scorpius only looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It is Harry's. The look on Harry's face only makes Scorpius feel sicker, stupider – pathetic. He wants to curl up beneath the floorboards and die, crawl beneath the dirt and dig his own grave. What will his father say?

***

Standing in the kitchen, Scorpius' heart breaks. He only overhears snippets of the conversation, the inevitable argument. _How could you?_ Mrs. Potter shouts. _For Merlin's sake, Harry, is that why you've been at the Leaky all these nights? Is that why you can barely stand to be in bed with me?_

Scorpius tries not to eavesdrop, but this is his fault, and he is curious. Albus, James, and Lily are listening too, all of them glaring at Scorpius from the other corner of the room. He hears James snarling _slimy git_ and _bent wanker_ under his breath to Albus. Lily just cries and cries and cries.

Scorpius excuses himself to the garden, where he vomits in the tulips.

***

Harry has no choice. He comes when Scorpius calls. That doesn't mean he is happy doing it, though.

"Just because we're bonded doesn't mean I have to live here," Harry says tersely. "I'm going to find the counter-curse, Scorpius, and then this nightmare will be over."

Scorpius wavers, all the blood leaving his face. Is he so awful a choice? Is he someone's nightmare?

He demands that Harry fuck him anyway, and Harry is bound to do that, too.

"Behind me," Scorpius insists, rolling over with a shudder. "Like the first time."

"Scorpius, don't—" Harry does it anyway.

"Harder," Scorpius demands. "Harder. Harder. Make it hurt. Make me feel it. You're mine. Mine, Harry, mine mine mine mine…"

When they are done, Scorpius lies very, very still, save for the sobs wracking his small body into convulsions. He doesn't want this, but it is inside him like a virus and spreading, all-consuming and desperate to bleed.

"Please don't leave me," Scorpius begs.

To his surprise, Harry curls up behind him and lifts a hand to pet Scorpius' side. He doesn't say a word.


End file.
